Page 30 of Writing On The Wall

Replace ceiling board

Check integrity of deck boards

Pull out carpets

Sand and varnish floors

New cabinets + fixtures

Replace ceiling fans

Repair holes in walls

Paint walls

“How did you get in here?”

A smirk spreads across his lightly bearded face before he turns and taps his pencil on the second crossed-out item on the wall. Then he folds his arms, like he’s bracing for an argument.

“Those locks were crap, Marsh. It was a safety hazard.”

“You sure are a stickler forsafety,” I add with air quotes. Although it’s actually kind of sweet, I’m still annoyed hechanged my locks without asking. And since I already told him the money from Gran’s lawyer won’t get transferred into my bank account for a few more days, he’s apparently used his own money.

He turns again, showing off that chiseled back and mumbling under his breath.

“And it looks like you’ve got your grumpy pants on again,” I remark as I pass him, stomping to the smaller bedroom I’ve been sleeping in. I figured I’d finish remodeling the master suite before moving my things in there.

Again, I decide to keep my shoes on, because the thought of losing the two and a half inches that they add to my height feels too vulnerable right now. I know they’re that high because the length of my thumb, from knuckle to tip, is exactly one inch. I prefer measuring with thumbs and hands. Measuring tapes are not my friend; all of those tiny lines between each inch drive me crazy.

In fact, I almost refused the measuring tape Ethan handed me last week. Thankfully, he only needed an estimate for the ceiling boards, so it was easy enough to read the nearest big number.

Stepping out of my room barefoot and two-and-a-half inches shorter would feel like walking out completely naked, not to mention highlight the fact that he literally has to talk down to me.

I stall in my room, putting away my laundry and straightening my half-made bed. I release a heavy exhale once I run out of tasks before ambling back to the living area.

Ethan is returning things to his tool box when I shuffle closer, and this situation we’ve found ourselves in starts feeling even more awkward. We’re the poster kids for things that don’t mix. Yet, he’s here—probably begrudgingly—as a favor to his brother and my best friend. The selflessness of his actions,him giving his time to help someone he clearly despises, is the one redeeming quality of Ethan’s I’ve been able to acknowledge. Because I refuse to appreciate any of his physical attributes. Admitting that I like the way he looks would be like handing out an honorary doctorate to a celebrity as a reward for doing nothing more than showing an interest in something.

Ethan doesn’t get a nice guy pass just because he’s hot. There, I said it. Moving on.

“Good news,” he turns to fold those big arms. “There’s no water damage in the roof. I’ll replace the ceiling boards next time I come by.”

Looking uncharacteristically sheepish, he glances to the side while unclipping something from his belt.

Oh no. It’s the freaking measuring tape again. I gulp, peering up at him while his mouth lifts with half a grin.

He steps closer, placing the tape in my hands as my heartbeat starts thumping in my ears. I don’t have the energy to fake this right now.

“Relax,” he gently reassures me. “Open it.”

My eyes fall to my hands, and I turn it over, pulling out the tape that’s like a mocking tongue.

But instead of only finding those tiny lines between each inch, I notice a small fraction written above each stroke. My forehead scrunches as I take in the numbers.

Ethan’s raspy voice comes out with quiet tension. “It’s a fraction tape measure.”

When I lift my head, I find his eyes bouncing between mine, searching for my approval. It’s the second show of vulnerability I’ve seen from him. The first was his reaction to all of my digs about him being a TV star.

Dame Judy Dench! One more mark in his favor.

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